


Thundersnow

by grimdarkpixels



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Amanda (Detroit: Become Human) Being an Asshole, Anxiety Attacks, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Needs a Hug, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Junkyard (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Markus (Detroit: Become Human) Needs a Hug, Post-Revolution, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Synesthesia, Zen Garden (Detroit: Become Human), basically its snowing and thundering at the same time and neither of the boys are very chill with it, no beta we die like men, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 05:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17380328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimdarkpixels/pseuds/grimdarkpixels
Summary: Thundersnow, also known as a winter thunderstorm or a thundersnowstorm, is an unusual kind of thunderstorm with snow falling as the primary precipitation instead of rain.Markus hates storms, and Connor still feels sick at the sight of snow. Naturally, both at the same time is an absolute nightmare.





	Thundersnow

For Markus, the weather reminds him of death.

The feeling of his body straining to move, the thirium running through his veins like the deepest chill. Thick mud caking the inside of his mouth as he lifts his head up, half blind and half deaf and what remains of his senses scrambled, static piercing through his mind like nails on a chalkboard. Unable to stand, confused and hurt, desperately trying to remember what happened between Leo’s intrusion and waking up in a puddle of filth as thunder cracks overhead.

He finds it in himself to crawl forward, feeling his biocomponents cracking and straining due to insufficient energy, but unable to hear any of it. All he can hear is the muffled sound of rain, the cacophony of other androids incoherently murmuring initialisation text. Thunder periodically rings through Markus’ audio processor just like the gunshot that sent him here.

An unfamilar android, trapped among dozens of broken parts and dead bodies, reaches out to grab him, tells him where he can find freedom, before shutting down for good. His face is damaged and broken down, permanently contorted with desperation. He thinks, then, that he can hear cries for help and pleas for mercy among the sea of broken error messages and mindless greetings to the cloudy sky. The revelation is a cruel awakening for Markus - this is what happens to his kind. This is what happens when the wall is broken down.

Markus has no choice but to continue forward, to at least try and find an escape. He climbs past walls made of his own people, the dead and the dying compressed into piles of scrap trying to grab onto him. He feels hands scrambling for the mechanisms that keep his biocomponents in place, trying to pull him apart in case there’s the slightest chance his parts are compatible with their own. Someone grabs him from behind and wraps their hand around his throat, asks him, “Where are you going?” and he claws into the assailant’s arm so hard he’s positive he breaks their chassis before he pulls himself free.

He’s certain in that moment why he woke up with half a body. Everyone in this waking nightmare of a place with a mind of their own is desperate to hang onto their newfound life, even if they have to cannibalise the parts of others to do it.

And then, as he stands up on unsteady legs, as he’s staring into the clearing filled with broken machines and the restless souls trying not to join them, he realises that if he doesn't do the same, he’s going to be ripped apart until he’s nothing but an empty chassis, rusting in the mud.

The thunder now sounds like mirthless laughter, as if taunting him with the vivid recollection of hands clawing at his body, and it’s too much to bear. It takes all of Markus’ energy to hold back the panicked tears welling in his eyes, and twice energy that to remind himself that it’s just a bad memory, that he’s in a safe place now.

The others know. He’s opened up to his companions a lot since the initial battle ended. He’s told them, shown them the horrors he saw in that wasteland. They know why his entire body goes tense when he hears a clap of thunder. They know why he looks so weary when he sees a storm on the weather forecast. They know not to bother him when the thunder starts. He’s undeserving of such understanding colleagues.

From behind the closed curtains, Markus can see a flash of lightning, and he can’t stop himself from whimpering quietly when he hears the accompanying roar of thunder. It’s embarrassing, how he’s built himself up to his people as this unflappable leader who can withstand anything, yet he turns into a barely verbal, nervous wreck because of the weather, of all things. He opens his mind palace to double check how much longer the storm will last, and he can feel his skin crawl when he learns it’s barely even started.

However, the forecast also tells him that it’s starting to snow. Markus has a short moment of clarity; he has no time to worry about himself; someone much more important to him is suffering, too.

So Markus sighs, hugs his knees, and waits.

 

For Connor, the weather reminds him of helplessness.

He remembers it like it was yesterday, whether he wants to or not. One moment he’s standing on that podium with Markus and the surviving members of Jericho, the next he’s in the Zen Garden - though it’s barely recognisable under the snow swirling all around him, sticking to the ground, the once peaceful water frozen enough to walk over. He feels a chill settle in his bones, and it’s so severe and unexpected that Connor wraps his arms around himself to try and keep himself warm, but it’s not working. Why is it not working?

Before then, he’d never “felt” cold. He had the ability to identify that it was cold, but not to experience it within his own body. Now he feels it, harsh and biting at his skin, stinging his fingertips in a way that shouldn't be possible. He’s experienced a lot of things that shouldn’t be possible tonight. It shouldn’t be possible for him to feel emotions, but he does. It shouldn’t have been possible for him to deviate, but he has. He shouldn’t have been able to infiltrate CyberLife and walk out not only alive, but leading thousands of new deviants into the streets, but he did.

So why is the new sensation of his body slowly freezing not only so unexpected, but so viscerally terrifying?

The only thing worse than the knowledge that he’s only getting colder is the sudden news that he’s about to kill Markus. Amanda looks so smug, so full of self-satisfaction when she tells him he "accomplished his mission," and Connor can only cry out her name before she’s gone.

His head whips around so hard that he feels a joint in his neck crack. He digs his nails tighter into his jacket and steps forward, and both movements feel stiff. He can feel the chill moving from his fingers up his body, to the tip of his nose, to his lips. He’s pretty sure he can feel his thirium pump burning from the cold with every beat inside his chest, and he knows what that means. He knows he’s supposed to die here, supposed to stumble around fruitlessly searching for a way out until his body kills Markus without his intent, and if that happens, what does he have left?

But then he remembers what Kamski said to him, those final words that, in the moment, Connor was barely listening to. He mentioned an emergency exit. Surely he must have brought it up for a reason. That blue plinth, the one he could never figure out the purpose of - that must be a back door. It _has_ to be, or else Connor is done for. He spins around, wild eyes searching for it before the snow gets too thick to see through. With every step towards it, his movements get jerkier, the chill surges through him, so cold it crosses the line back into feeling hot. By the time he actually reaches the plinth, falling before it, his vision is cloudy and his fingers can barely move.

He can’t sense anything properly. Even though Amanda’s flowers are far away, the smell of roses is heavy on his tongue. It’s enough to make him gag, even though he knows he can’t vomit even if he wants to. He curses under his breath and looks straight up, and he knows that that blackened sky is the last thing he’ll see if he can’t drag himself close enough to use the emergency exit. He has to. He can’t let himself ruin this cause, not after giving so much to it. He doesn’t want Markus to die.

 _He_ doesn’t want to die. The weight of that realisation makes Connor’s entire body sound like it’s sinking. He’s scared of dying, and in this moment, he understands. Daniel, HK400, Kara, Traci, Markus, Jericho as a whole. Each and every time he met a deviant who thought that same thing. _I don’t want to die._ He’s positive that he finally understands.

When he brings his hand down on the plinth, it looks the way thirium tastes.

He’s not actually caught in the snow when it starts this time. It begins as rain, drumming down on the roof like a thousand awoken androids marching into the streets of Detroit, and eventually it gives way to hail, followed by the snow outside Connor’s window. But even though he’s not inside it, he remembers that feeling of freezing nearly to death. He remembers being so close to shutting down while trapped inside his own mind. He remembers being able to taste roses. And he hates it.

He’s not welcome here, he knows. Markus has accepted him, and his friends are starting to accept him, but Jericho at large still fears him. He doesn’t blame them, he knows he did horrible things, but it doesn’t hurt any less knowing that he’s still being shunned for things he did before he woke up. He knows things would be much, much worse if he’d sided with CyberLife. It’s not enough to make him feel better about what he’s done, what he means to the rest of his people.

When he sees a flash of lightning, followed by a crash of thunder, his mind drifts to Markus. He knows how the older android feels about storms. He can imagine the deviant leader trying not to break down in his bed, and he feels his brows knit together in concern. He looks up at the ceiling and slightly to the left, where he knows Markus’ room is, and tries to establish a connection.

 _"Are you asleep?”_ he asks, and he can feel Markus on the other side, so he knows the answer before Markus even replies.

_“I need you here, Connor. Please.”_

Even over the connection, Connor can hear his partner trying to keep it together. He doesn’t waste another second before he’s pulling on a jacket and making a beeline for Markus’ room, pushing back the irrational fear settling in his chest that he might hurt Markus. Even after the Zen Garden program was removed, he still fears being overridden again, and not being able to escape it. It’s one of the reasons his relationship with Markus still hasn’t gone public. Fortunately, Connor doesn’t run into anyone he needs to explain himself to on his way to his destination.

Markus’ door is locked, but he gave Connor the credentials to unlock it himself when they became official. He’s careful not to open it too loudly, since he isn’t sure how badly affected Markus is at the moment. When he steps inside, he sees Markus in the fetal position on his bed, his face pressed against his knees, and he’s rocking back and forth almost gently enough to be unnoticable. Connor quickly approaches the side of the bed where Markus is sitting so he can place a hand on his shoulder. Markus jerks violently and snaps his head up, and the sight of Markus’ panic-stricken eyes and his lower lip drawn so tight between his teeth that thirium dribbles down his chin makes Connor want to cry.

Instead, he cups Markus’ face softly - he takes care to stay away from his eyes and audio processors - and wipes away the droplets of blood in an attempt to calm his lover down. “Markus, I’m here. It’s okay,” he whispers.

Markus breaths a shaky sigh of relief and pushes Connor’s hand away. “I-It…It's really bad tonight.”

Connor simply says, “I know,” and sits down beside Markus. He doesn’t touch him again immediately. “Are hands okay?”

Markus shakes his head and sniffles. “I can’t stop t-th-thinking about…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, and he doesn’t have to. He wipes his face with his sleeve and situates himself so he can wrap his arms around Connor, and he rests his head on the ex-detective’s shoulder and sighs into his chest. He’s still holding himself back, still trying hard not to start crying loudly. Mostly, he doesn’t want to wake anyone up by accident, but he’s also just so used to hiding his emotions around the others that it’s hard to let himself be vulnerable.

Even though it’s only Connor. Even though they’ve seen each other at their worst and grown stronger from it. Even though he’s let this man into his very soul more times than he could care to count. But he knows he needs to cry.

And then he hears the roar of thunder from outside again, closer and louder than the others, and Connor feels something wet drip onto his shirt as Markus’ shoulders shake and he hiccups into Connor’s chest. Tears well up in Connor’s own eyes, and he almost wraps his arms around Markus before he remembers why he can’t. Instead, he murmurs into Markus’ ear, warm and soothing words of reassurance and comfort.

Markus feels Connor move back, but he clings to his lover like a lifeline until he returns to his original position and drapes a blanket around them both. Despite himself, the ghost of a smile tugs at Markus’ lips and he briefly releases one hand to pull the blanket tighter around himself.

“Thank you,” Markus breathes against Connor’s neck.

“It’s okay,” is the only reply he gets, and they stay quiet for a long time after.

Markus’ arms stay wrapped tightly around Connor, and every time they hear thunder his grip gets just a little bit tighter and he lets out a little choked whimper, to which Connor responds with gentle shushing noises. Markus rocks them both back and forth rhythmically, and soon he’s humming a familiar tune to himself, though his voice wavers and breaks in some parts. Connor still hums along.

He needs this just as much, and they both know it. The contact between them keeps Connor grounded in the moment, the warmth of Markus’ arms around him and the blanket draped around them both makes the Zen Garden feel like a bad dream. He closes his eyes even though the curtains are drawn, and he can’t taste the scent of a rose anymore. Even the sense of discontent, the fear that he doesn’t belong feels so small in comparison to Markus. So he breathes steadily, silently rejoicing when his lover starts to follow his breathing pattern.

Eventually Markus stops crying, though a quick scan makes it apparent that it’s only because he’s run out of tears to cry. His shivering calms down, however, and his response to the thunder changes from crying and whispering “No, no, no,” under his breath to startled gasps.

Connor tests the waters and wipes a stray tear streak from Markus’ cheek, and internally sighs in relief when Markus doesn’t recoil or push him away. He rests a few of his fingers on Markus’ hip, lifting the fabric of his shirt up slightly and rubbing circles into the plating there that Connor supposes would count as his hipbone.

He leans in until they’re touching foreheads, and the way he stares into Markus’ eyes so warmly and lovingly makes the latter almost forget that one of them is stolen, miscalibrated and sits wrong in his skull.

Barely audible, Connor asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Markus responds by closing the distance between them, and instead of roses, Connor can only taste Markus. It’s absolute bliss; every time their lips connect, it’s nothing but bliss, and now more than ever it’s something that Connor savors. He pours as much love as he can into the kiss, like enough of it will be able to reverse the pain of the nightmares they’ve both been forced to live through, and warmth blooms in his chest when he feels Markus reciprocate just as passionately.

The synthetic skin on their hands is already retracting by the time Markus’ palm presses against Connor’s, and they both gasp into each other’s mouths at the onslaught of memories and worries flying through the newly-opened connection. They’ve interfaced before so many times, whether as a quick reassuring gesture between negotiations or in moments spent alone together entangled in each other until it was impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began, and yet it’s always so much more powerful than they remember it being. Like touching a raw nerve, they feel everything so strongly it nearly hurts, but that just makes it all the more cathartic.

By the time they finally break apart, they’ve fallen onto the bed, lying beside each other with the blanket still wrapped around them somewhat awkwardly. The thunder is infrequent and distant, drowned out by the sound of their breathing.

Markus presses his face into the juncture between Connor’s neck and shoulder and breathes. “I wish we could save them,” he says, just above a whisper.

They both know it’s impossible to save their dead. Even if Jericho had all the spare parts they could ever possibly need, the personalities and memories they once clung to are lost forever. Data backups had only been made for a few of them, and they were likely lost when CyberLife fell. But Markus still grieves.

Connor snakes an arm around Markus and rubs his back gently, only replying with “Me, too.”

Because he knows what was lost. He knows how many people were killed without a second thought. He knows he contributed to the body count, however small the addition might have been. He knows, and he wants to make amends, no matter how long it takes.

“I love you. So, _so_ much,” Markus says with as much sincerity as words alone can carry. He holds Connor tighter and lifts his head up enough to meet his eyes. “Stay here tonight?”

The hopefulness in his voice makes Connor let out a sigh of a laugh as he wraps his arms around Markus properly and plants a kiss to the leader’s forehead.

“Like you even have to ask.”


End file.
